Not All That is Said is Spoken
by TheTrickster'sFavoriteIllusion
Summary: Not everybody has a soulmate, but those who do have the first words that person says to them inscribed on their body somewhere. John Watson has always imagined he would have something witty to say when it came to answering the question "Afghanistan or Iraq?", until the moment he can no longer speak at all. Mute!John. Injured!John. Soulmate AU. Rated T just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**(Hi, guys, it's been a really long time since I've published literally anything, and I'm not even sure if I'm gonna continue this story, but let me know if you guys think I should keep working on it and I hope you all enjoy it. )**

 **(Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters and most of the dialogue is stolen directly from the show, so that's not mine either.)**

 **Chapter One**

John Watson was not expecting the words "Oh, thank you. Afghanistan or Iraq?" to appear on his arm one day just before his fifth birthday, but they had. He had been concerned at first, tried to scrub them off, worried his mother would be cross with him for writing on himself, but he couldn't make the words go away. He'd gone to her, crying, trying to explain that he hadn't done anything wrong, but, despite his expectations, she wasn't angry. Instead, she seemed pleased. She explained to him, that he was very lucky. He had a soulmate. They had been born today, and their bond was exceptionally strong, going by how dark the words were. She told him that most people had a soulmate, and the bonds were shown by phrases that decorated their skin, either from the day they were born, or from the day their soulmate entered the world. Those words are always the first thing your soulmate would say to you. She had dried his tears and congratulated him. One day he would find somebody he was meant to spend his life with.

So, he grew up, wondering what his answer to this question would be. What he would do to prompt such a response. What he would say when he heard the words "Oh, thank you. Afghanistan or Iraq". For the longest time he didn't know. Didn't know what his answer would be. He didn't know why anybody would ask him such a question, but when he joined the military he had his suspicions as to why one would ask that. Suspicions that were confirmed shortly after. The question was also answered. Afghanistan. He practiced whenever he was bored. Practiced the delivery of the words. Tried to think of what question he would ask in return. Once he was deployed he didn't think about it as much. In the three years he was there he hardly thought of it at all, and when he did it was very briefly, when he was alone, just about to fall asleep. His right hand would drift over and rub lightly over the words along the inside of his left forearm. He couldn't feel them, but he knew they were there. Comforting, a reassurance that his soulmate was out there somewhere. That one day he would ask a question that was etched on someone else's skin.

But that idea was crushed. Thrown away. Blown to pieces by the same shrapnel that tore into John. One piece going straight through his shoulder… Another piece, one tiny shard of metal, through his neck. He was told that it was a miracle he was alive. A miracle that the scarring was minimal, and that he'd be able to continue his life in much the same way as before… But he'd most likely never speak again.

Now, his soulmate was not his first thought. His first thought has something along the lines of "What do I do now?". He was being made to go back to a home he didn't have any more on an army pension that wouldn't allow him to continue to stay in a decent flat. Not in London, but he couldn't stop himself from going back. He worked on his sign language, not that many people knew it, but it was better than the bloody speaking app that Harry had downloaded for him. It was difficult, but he managed. Still, he knew something would have to change. He didn't know what, but it would have to happen soon.

That change occurred one afternoon while he was strolling through the park. Mike Stamford, an old friend from school, called out to him. Of course, he didn't know what had happened to John in the years since they graduated, but he didn't react too badly. Stamford allowed John to respond on the notepad he'd taken to carrying around and didn't stare to badly once he noticed the one small scar that was visible on the side of the other man's neck. John recounted his accommodation troubles, only to have Mike suggest a flat share. John rolled his eyes and scribbled in his notebook.

'Come on, who'd want me as a flatmate?'

Stamford chuckled, "Well, you're the second person who's asked me that today."

That was how John Watson found himself following Mike Stamford through the halls of St. Bart's Hospital. John was not expecting to be lead down to morgue's lab, but the moment he stepped through the door he knew that something was different.

The man sitting in front of the microscope was absolutely stunning. Tall, striking pale skin against dark curly hair, and cheekbones that didn't seem possible. When he spoke, John, straightened slightly, not expecting the low timber of the other man's voice.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?"

"And what's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry, it's in my coat."

John stood, watching this strange man who hadn't even bothered to look up from his task for the briefest of moments before his brain started to work again. He snapped to draw the stranger's attention before signing, 'Here, use mine.' he dug the device out of his pocket and waved it slightly to get his point across.

The man looked up at him, seemingly surprised at his presence, his bright eyes looking back and forth between John and Mike before he spoke, "Oh, thank you."

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike interjected as the dark-haired stranger stood and approached John.

He took the offered device and set to work, typing away, his eyes entirely focused on the screen. When he spoke again it took John a moment to realize that this stranger was talking to him.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John's heart skipped a beat. The words were not said the way John had imagined them said, but there they were. They were matter of fact, not really questioning at all. This was the first time John had even thought of the words drawn on his arm since before the explosion, and here he was, standing there, unable to give his soulmate an answer.

He tilted his head questioningly and the man spoke again. "Which was it, Afghanistan, or Iraq?"

The blonde swallowed hard as he started to reach for the notepad in his coat.

"Don't bother. I can sign."

John straightened and signed, vaguely pleased that his hands decided not to shake, 'Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know-"

Before he could finish a woman entered and the stranger turned his attention away from John. "Ah, Molly! Coffee, thank you." He handed the phone back to John and proceeded to have a conversation with this Molly woman that made John realize that maybe this man was not his soulmate after all. He was entirely rude. John gave the woman an apologetic smile when he realized he was being addressed by the man, who may or may not be his soulmate, once more.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

John tilted his head once more, in question. 'Sorry, what?'

"I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

John stared at the man for a moment before turning to Stamford, who was watching them with an amused smile.

"I didn't tell him anything."

"No, he didn't, but I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap."

John shook his head. Did this man know everything about him. 'How did you know about Afghanistan?'

The man ignored the question as he put on his coat. "I've got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together ought to be able to afford it." He searched something on his own mobile before turning back to John, "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, 7:00. Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

He brushed past John who laid a hand on his shoulder before he could exit the lab. 'Is that it?'

The man raised an eyebrow, "Is that what?"

'We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat?'

The man glanced between John and Mike once more, "Problem?"

John looked over at Mike who smiled knowingly. He sucked in a breath, 'We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name.'

The man leveled his gaze on John, his expression serious. "I know you're an Army doctor. And you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him 'cause you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, and more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" The man opened the door and made his leave, only to pause and look back at John. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He clicked his tongue and bid Mike afternoon and he was gone, leaving John to stare after him in amazement.

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, he's always like that."

John went back to his hotel room not long after, his mind whirling with… Everything. Questions, possibilities, sometimes just noise of everything that has been or ever could be. Who was this Sherlock Holmes? Was he really his soulmate? Would he ever actually know? He couldn't speak. Did signing count? John settled down at the desk provided by the hotel and opened his laptop. He had research to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**(Hey, guys, sorry, I suck at updating things, I apologize. If you have managed to keep excited about this fic despite the fact I haven't updated it in over a year. I'm proud of all of you. Thank you. I cannot promise that I will continue updating because of my busy schedule, but I will do my absolute best.)**

Chapter 2

The research did not help. If anything, all the research did was cause a weight of dread to settle over his heart. According to the internet it was very rare for a person unable to speak to find their soulmate. Of course, they could have the mark if their soulmate could speak, but their soulmate would not have a mark. After first reading that John had fought the urge to slam his laptop shut and throat it against the wall, but he resisted, instead exiting out of the link and clicking on a new one, and another, and another. When he got the same answer in each one he finally gave up. He glanced at the clock as he shut the lid. 3 am. Not ideal for a healthy amount of sleep, but with all the information he was attempting to process he doubted he would get to sleep at all. If he did he would most likely be awoken by nightmares. Regardless, he forced himself to lay across the hard hotel mattress and close his eyes.

He was surprised when he woke up to the sun streaming into the room, a beam blinding him slightly as it danced across his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept past dawn. Hell, he'd given up on alarms entirely, his body had been waking him early in the morning out of pure habit for years. Since he'd been invalidated home the dreams of explosions and searing pain had kept him from sleeping for any length of time.

He let out a slight groan as he rolled over to check the clock on the nightstand. His eyes widened. It was nearly noon. He was pretty sure the last time he'd slept in so late he'd still been in college. He sat up and scrubbed at his eyes. He'd been planning on doing some shopping, but he couldn't bring himself to summon the energy to go on the tube, and hailing a cab sounded even worse, so instead he stood long enough to move over to the desk and open his laptop. If he couldn't find any information to help him with the soulmate mark, he could at least do some snooping into his possible soulmate.

Sherlock Holmes, it turns out, was… otherworldly. If half of the things John found online were true, then the man was entirely remarkable. John found that Sherlock was involved in several police cases to an undetermined extent, a private detective that some thought was amazing while others believed him to be the devil, and that he even had his own blog "The Science of Deduction", some involved things about tobacco ash. No information that as even vaguely useful to John in figuring out who the other man, who seemed to look deep into John's being and suddenly know everything he had to offer, was. He was beautiful, and from what John found, undoubtedly intelligent, but everything else as a mystery, and John wasn't sure if this was a mystery he wanted to dive into. He wasn't sure if he was strong enough, if his heart could take another disappointment on top of everything that had already happened.

His thoughts were interrupted when his stomach rumbled. He frowned lightly. He had forgotten to eat, not that he was ever even truly hungry anymore, but normally he at least forced down enough to keep himself going. He looked at the clock once more, just before 4 o'clock. He needed to eat, and he was actually hungry. He quickly searched Chinese places nearby that delivered. He placed his order and according to the order tracker the restaurant was busy, and his food wouldn't be delivered for about forty minutes, just enough time to take a shower and get dressed.

Before he knew it, he was standing in the bathroom, stubbornly refusing to put extra effort into his appearance, even if he did make sure to pick out his favorite shirt and jumper and a pair of good slacks, but that was simply to make a good impression on his possible future landlord. He was adamant that Sherlock Holmes was not the reason he fiddled with his hair an extra few minutes before sighing heavily and returning to the main part of his hotel room to wait for the delivery guy.

When the food arrived, John paid and smiled slightly at the smell wafting from the bag. His stomach rumbled again. It had been a long time since he had indulged in take-out and it smelled divine. He pulled the plastic fork from it's individual wrap and tucked in. If he could he would moan at the taste. As it was he just sighed happily. He finished and packed the extra boxes into the minifridge in his room and settled back down at the desk. He checked his watch. There was an hour and a half before he was supposed to meet Sherlock to look at the flat. With traffic and the rush of people getting home from work he supposed he had about twenty minutes before he wanted to leave if he wanted to be early, which he did. He wanted an opportunity to check out the area and see if he was even interested in living there.

John sat in front of his computer for a few more minutes before he could no longer stand sitting idle. Somehow the idea of the tube didn't seem so bad when such exciting possibilities waited on the other side.

The trip to Baker street was simultaneously excruciatingly long and over in a blink of an eye, his good leg bouncing the entire time and his heart raced the closer he got to his destination. There were so many possibilities whirling through his mind he nearly missed his stop, but he remembered last moment, hobbling off the train the doors closing behind him.

He let out a sigh once he was steady on the platform. Once he was back on street level it didn't take long for him to get his bearings. He was only a few blocks from the address Sherlock had given him and he had just under an hour to explore the neighborhood. He walked slowly, stopping frequently to rest his leg and watch the people as they hustled past him. It was a good neighborhood in Central London. He wasn't sure he would be able to afford the flat, even if he was sharing it, but it couldn't hurt to at least look.

As he neared the flat he saw a small café down the block and smiled slightly. It would be good to have food available so close by. He never was much a cook. As he got closer he realized the café was just next door to 221B. Even better. He really did enjoy the neighborhood, and even though he was about fifteen minutes early Sherlock stepped from a cab just moments after his arrival. John waved.

'Mr. Homes.' John signed after shaking the other man's hand.

The brunet shook his head, "Sherlock, please."

John nodded, 'This is a prime spot. Must be expensive.'

Sherlock shook his head once more, "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

John tilted his head, concern etched across his features. "Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

A slightly wild glint of amusement sparked in Sherlock's eyes as a smile twitched the corners of his mouth, "Oh no, I ensured it."

John's eyes widened slightly. He had not expected that, but he couldn't help the smile that crept across his face at the mischievous expression on Sherlock's face as he followed the other man into the flat.

The stairs were unfortunate, but he could deal with them if he needed to, and the landlady seemed welcoming enough. Mrs. Hudson was her name, and while she wasn't quite sure how to handle John being mute at first the good doctor appreciated her efforts through their introduction.

John wandered around the flat, taking in the mess that littered the den. It was a rather nice flat, and while it did need to be tidied it would be rather lovely. When he expressed this thought, Sherlock paused.

"I thought so too, so I went straight ahead and moved in." Sherlock's posture was suddenly awkward as he shuffled some papers and files around. "Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit."

John flushed slightly and shook his head before moving on to take in the chaos that apparently belonged to Sherlock. He paused in front of the mantle and turned to his potential soulmate, frowning as he did.

'That's a skull.'

The taller man shrugged, "Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'- "

Mrs. Hudson interrupted him before he could finish, "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

John tilted his head and glanced at Sherlock who simply rolled his eyes. 'Of course, we'll be needing two.'

Sherlock translated, and Mrs. Hudson laughed, "Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

Sherlock rolled his eyes once more as the landlady left the room.

John turned to him, 'I looked you up on the Internet last night.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, flopping down into one of the chairs. "Anything interesting?"

John shrugged slightly, 'Found your website, The Science of Deduction.'

Sherlock sat forward, his pals pressed together under his chin with his long fingers over his lips," What did you think?"

'You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb.'

"Yes;" Sherlock nodded, "and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."

John shook his head, his hands in his lap for a moment before signing a single word, 'How?'

Before Sherlock could respond, Mrs. Hudson returned, "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

" Four." John tilted his head and turned to see Sherlock staring out the window, "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asked as a knock echoed through the apartment.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and waved the man on the other side inside. He was tall, grey haired, and had a Detective Inspector's badge from Scotland Yard on his belt. Before he could speak, Sherlock started asking questions.

"Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

The DI shrugged, "You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

Sherlock tilted his head, his body almost vibrating with anticipation, but he seemed to be tempering his excitement in case his didn't get the answer he wanted, "Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson."

Sherlock groaned dramatically, "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I need an assistant." Sherlock exclaimed petulantly.

The DI rolled his eyes as if he were used to Sherlock, "Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." The brunet confirmed with a nod.

"Thank you."

With that the DI, who's name John had seen to be G. Lestrade according to his badge nodded and exited the flat, closing the door behind himself.

As soon as he heard the door downstairs slam Sherlock exploded, His face was alight with what John could only describe as joy, "Brilliant! Yes!" He exclaimed, whirling around. He continued but seemed to be talking more to himself than the other inhabitants of the room." Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" He seemed to remember there were other people nearby as he made his way to the door. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" With that final farewell Sherlock slammed the door behind himself, leaving John seated in the den as Mrs. Hudson busied herself in the kitchen.

"Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

John clenched his jaw, anger at his own body welling up inside him until he couldn't control it anymore. He slammed his cane down, startling the woman. He sighed heavily shaking his head and tapping his leg apologetically as she started at him in shock for a moment before continuing with her previous tasks.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." She said, "I'll make you a cuppa," She continued, "Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

John sat in silence for a few moments, listening to Mrs. Hudson bustle about before the door swung open unexpectedly, making him jump. Sherlock was standing before him, his pale, calculating eyes scanning over his seated frame.

"You're a doctor. In fact, you're an Army doctor." Sherlock said after a moment.

John nodded.

"Any good?"

John nodded again. 'Very good.'

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."

Once more, John nodded.

Sherlock's lips twitched in that ghost of a smile he seemed so fond of. "Bit of trouble too, I bet".

'Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.'

Sherlock's smile could no longer be contained. His eyes sparked with that wild amusement once again, but this time there was something more there as well. Something that promised adventure and danger. "Wanna see some more?

John sighed, 'Oh God, yes.' He signed before scrambling to his feet as quickly as possible.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, he'll skip the tea. We're off." Sherlock called as he ushered John out the door.

"Both of you?"

Sherlock paused, "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!"

John heard the woman laugh and he couldn't help but shake his head at how all the people in Sherlock's life that he'd met so far seemed to think his behavior was totally reasonable.

"Look at you, all happy." She chided, amusement still evident in her voice, "It's not decent."

Sherlock let out a dark chuckle, one that sent shivers of excitement down John's spine, "Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"


	3. Postponement and update

**(Hey, lovelies, I'm really sorry guys I was about 75% dome with the new chapter (which was very long cause I was going all the way until John hails the taxi after Sherlock abandons him at the crime scene and my computer crashed, killing the entire processing system unexpectedly. I couldnt even try to backup my files cause I don't own a large enough external drive. So, once I get a new computer I will have to see if the chapter saved to my one drive. If it didn't I dont think I'll have the energy to redo the whole thing until the taxi hailing and then time skip like I planned so, of it didn't save, I'll most likely just time skip right away. Summarize and all that jazz so I can just get on with the story. Anyway, I just thought I'd let you all know that I am not abandoning this story again, my computer just decided to crap out on me so it'll be a couple weeks before I get a new one. I promise to keep going whether or not the chapter saved I just have to save some money. Thank you all so much for reading. I see y'all and I appreciate you. Especially reviews. They soothe my worried writers mind into thinking my writing is somewhat palatable... so really, thank you. Okay, imma stop now. I'll update when I can and we will see how it goes.**

 **-AJ)**


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